South Park Presents: Grease
by SugarRocket
Summary: South Park Middle School puts on a show! Comes with: drama, humor, and romance. Batteries not included. Story is alot better than this summary makes it out to be.
1. Opening Scene

"Okay children, I have some news," said our sexually confused teacher Herbert Garrison, who somehow always followed us up a grade. Everyone kept chatting. Garrison's news mattered about as much as moot.

"I SAID SIT DOWN AND SHUT THE HELL UP!" shrieked Garrison. Everyone started and looked at the older man.

I leaned my head on my fist and examined my long blonde hair for split ends. A quick profile:

Bebe Stevens

13 years old

Birthday: March 12th

5'5", 108 pounds

Blonde hair, blue eyes, and killer fashion sense. I love to shop, straighten my hair, and sing. Which is a surprising fact about me.

"Bebe Stevens, did you hear a word I just said?" Garrison yelled, looking enraged.

"No," I said timidly, flushing as every pair of eyes in the class turned to me.

"I _said,_" huffed Garrison, "the 7th grade is having a musical. I just asked you if you wanted to go post the sign-up sheet near the gym. Bring Wendy because you might get distracted by a magazine ad or something."

"Right," I said, standing up and snatching the clipboard from my asshole teacher. "C'mon, Wendy."

Wendy and I walked in silence down a couple halls and then Wendy turned to face me, a serious, somber look in her brown eyes. She was a good four inches shorter than me, super smart, and had perfect, silky hair, which undoubtedly helped her to snatch her steady boyfriend, well-known jock Stan Marsh. Perfect girlfriend material, flawed only by the fact that she had no boobs to speak of.

"What? Why are you looking at me like that?" I asked warily, hugging the clipboard.

Wendy's face underwent a series of changes from solemn to ecstatic in 0.5 seconds, then she began to SQUEAL. So loudly several kids from the sixth grade looked round at us, frightened.

"Bebe, this is it!! This is our chance to shine! Aren't you frigging excited? Oh my God, we haven't had anything like this since fourth grade! Remember Brydon Guermo? Oh my God, I'm going to explode!" she shrieked, then began a mad dance around me. I stood and began to smile too. Truth was, I loved to perform. And I'd definitely love a big part.

"Post it on the wall, stupid!" yelled Wendy in my ear. "I wanna see what it is!"

I taped the sign-up sheet to the corkboard near the front office and stood back to admire the neat lines, the bold script, and the little comedy/tragedy symbol in the top left corner.

GREASE!

A modern, modified version of the classic tale!

Below were a list of major characters you could sign up as, and the opening night date.

"Oh my god, dude, it's flippin' Grease! This is heaven!" I sang, twirling around with Wendy. We looked at each other, giggled, and dashed back to class.

(a/n: Oh my god, this is so exciting! It will get better: for now it's just an introduction, extremely short, but it will get better. Review plz.)


	2. Luck in Lists

(A/N: I don't own South Park, or Grease. Happy reading.)

Within two days, only about 12 kids had signed up. Which was a bummer. The list looked a little like this:

Wendy Testaburger

Bebe Stevens

Rebecca Tucker (If I were a graham cracker and Wendy was a marshmallow, Rebecca is the chocolate to our s'more friendship. Her cousin, Craig, is the most beautiful creature in the world.)

Lola Palmer (Oh my God, how we hate her. The Devil's spawn in a short, skinny, skanky package.)

Annie Polk

Heidi Turner

Pip Pirrup (That faggy British kid. I never knew he could sing.)

Stan Marsh

Millie Welsh

And so on. A bunch of bitchy girls and only four boys, including Pip, Stan, Clyde Donovan, and Eric Cartman. Dear God. Cartman, the fat, insensitive, racist, fat, control freak on the musical. We will never survive it.

"Kenny!" I shrieked at the passing blonde. Kenny was a childhood friend, gorgeous, friendly, and prone to accidents. Also the perviest perv on the planet. "Kenny, come sign up or I'll kick your ass."

"Do I get a blowjob if I do?" he smirked, scratching his name on a line.

I rolled my eyes. Still, Kenny was a valuable member to have onboard.

"Butters!" yelled Rebecca, getting in the short little fag's face. Butters was gay, we were almost sure of it. "Sign up or I'll tell everyone you blew

Cartman."

Butters blushed a glowing red and added his name to the slowly growing list. "W-well I would never do that, Becca, I only like girls," he stuttered, and scrambled away.

"Yeah, right," Rebecca called after him, flicking her deep red hair over one pale shoulder. Red loved to draw—especially on her face, all the creative makeup she wore—and was the school's accidental emo freak.

"You should so get Craig to sign up, Becky," said Wendy, smiling at me, and I flushed. It was a generally known fact I liked him. Who wouldn't? He was so gorgeous…and tall…tall enough for me. Incidentally, the sex god was walking by, and Rebecca grabbed his arm.

"Craiggypoo," she drawled, "Bebe was just talking about how you should sign up for Grease."

I blushed even deeper. That whore!

"What the hell, Bebe, musicals are gay," said Craig, flipping her off, but signed his name anyway. Then he SMILED at me and walked away.

Blushing so hard I thought my head would fall off, I stumbled off in the opposite direction, supported by Red and Wendy.

"OhmyGod, he signed up, writing all sexily, and then he flipped his gorgeous hair around and smiled at _me_…but OMG! That's only three new people! There are so many more roles to fill! And auditions are this Friday," I said in one girlish breath.

Wendy and Rebecca looked at me.

I looked at them.

"Kenny signed up," Rebecca beamed, attempting to hide it behind her red-painted fingertips and failing miserably.

"Oh my god, do you like him or something?" asked Wendy, checking Becky for a fever.

"A little," admitted Rebecca.

Looks like we all had our leading men on board.


	3. Tryouts

(I don't own South Park, Grease, or any character of the two.)

Friday morning dawned bright…and late, for me anyway. It was almost eight when I finally hauled ass out of bed and headed for the shower. I decided to clip my hair up to keep it dry, stood in the steam and loudly practiced my audition song (We Belong Together, by Mariah Carey), still drowsy from lack of sleep. How I wanted a big part—a part opposite the lovely, flippant, rebellious Craig. How I wanted Lola to have to pantomime as a boy. How hungry I was. Hungry and clean, and makeupless. Best to fix those things.

Half an hour later, I met up with Wendy at the bus stop. She was chewing on a power bar and looked like the walking dead.

"Wendy," I said. "You look tired."

"I am, Captain Obvious," she retorted. "I didn't sleep at all last night. I dreamed I slept late and missed the whole audition and they cast me as a car." She yawned. "How are you?"

"Nervous," I muttered, taking out my purple iPod and putting in the earbuds.

Class was chaotic that day. Everyone who had signed up—i.e. everyone in the seventh grade—was nervous and jittery, high on Red Bull and coffee. And cigarettes, it turned out, for goth kids Dylan and Henrietta. Why they had signed up along with all the other "Justin and Britney Hollister-addicted douche bags" was beyond me.

"Dylan," I muttered in math class. "Watch out, that Kenny McCormick just accidentally looked at Red. Heartbreaking."

A pink flush livened up the goth kid's pale complexion. "Fuck off," he replied lightly. I liked Dylan. A little emotional, but he was a pretty cool guy.

After what seemed like years, the final bell rang overhead, and everyone dashed out of science to the gym.

Wendy led the way in to the gym/auditorium; us all linked at the elbow. Row upon row of cheapo folding chairs had been set up, and kids had taken their places in them. We chose a spot five rows back and snuggled down with Annie and Heidi, equal parts nervous and excited. I spotted Craig, the Sex God extraordinaire, sitting with that spazzy kid Tweek Tweak and Clyde Donovan, who I had briefly went out with in fourth and fifth grade. Kyle Broflovski, well-known for having the cutest butt ever, was sitting with his best friends Stan and Kenny. Cartman was there too. Definitely not Kyle's friend.

Lola, Nelly, Millie, Powder, and some other girls were sitting far back and antagonizing the goth kids. I noticed they had all painted little stars on their cheeks with eyeliner, like Rebecca had. What whores.

At the front of the gym, Mr. Garrison came whooshing out of nowhere, dressed dramatically in black, including a beret, and said, "Okay, children, sit down and shut the hell up. I'm splitting you into two groups to audition and I'm only gonna say it once."

He read off the sign-up sheet.

"Wendy Testaburger! Rebecca Tucker! Annie Polk! Pip Pirrup! Millie Welsh! Butters Stotch! Craig Tucker! Token Black! Clyde Donovan! Eric Cartman! Henrietta Grimes! You retards are group One! You'll be the first to audition!

"Now!" shrieked Garrison flamboyantly, adjusting his reading glasses.

"Group Two! Bebe Stevens! Heidi Turner! Stan Marsh! Kenny McCormick! Lola Palmer! Sally Powder Turner! Tweek Tweak! Jimmy Vulmer! Nelly Lane! Kyle Broflovski! Dylan Kimmel! Stay where you are, you're going second."

Crap and three times crap. I had no friends to go up with me, and no Sex God. At least I had Kenny.

Wendy and Becky stood up awkwardly, and I grasped their hands, smiling widely, then sent them off. Rebecca kept picking at her neon fishnet tights. God, God, God, stop it, I thought, then turned to chat with Heidi. We giggled all the way through two performances (Annie's and Millie's) and when Millie clomped offstage, having bombed the monologue by forgetting half of it, Mr. Garrison whipped his glasses off and glared at us.

"Would you two girls mind SHUTTING THE HELL UP," he snapped, and Craig, who was next, flipped us off. I hate him.

I listened intently through Craig's performance. He wasn't terrific, slightly nasal, but his line read was phenomenal. Who knew Sir Jockship was a drama kid at heart.

Heidi and me applauded Rebecca, who rocked Celine Dion's Titanic epic, and went crazy when Wendy dramatically concluded her Shakespearean monologue in tears.

Finally, Henrietta Grimes walked offstage, muttering something about "faggot conformist asswipes," and Group Two got uneasily to their feet.

"Feeling nervous, Bebe?" Kenny asked as we took our places to either side of the stage.

"Only as nervous as you could be," I replied, draining my cola and casually flicking the can at Lola's stupid head. Truthfully, I was confident that I would get a part. Hopefully opposite Craig.

"My mom is gonna bitch out if I don't get a part," said Kyle, twisting his fingers together.

"No surprise there, kosher boy, your mom is the bitchiest bitch on the planet," Kenny said truthfully.

"Shut up, druggie," agreed Kyle.

"BEBE STEVENS, GET YOUR ASS OUT HERE NOW!" called Garrison, losing his rag.

"Bye, guys," I said, smiling, and walked confidently into the spotlight, where Garrison was perched like a fag bat out of hell on Mr. Mackey's piano.

"Bebe, go stand on the red tape X," my teacher instructed. I did so. "Now, what song are you planning to sing?"

"Mariah Carey's 'We Belong Together'," I said clearly, but I was losing my grip. Wendy and Rebecca were watching me in the audience. So was Craig, and he looked like he wanted to get out of there.

"Well start then, sweetie," said Mr. Garrison. He must think he's Simon Cowell or someone equally lame.

I planted my feet and drove straight through to the chorus, where I belted it out. From the diaphragm, I thought, pausing for breath.

When I was done, I smiled widely, and segued into my monologue, even getting a few tears out.

"How was that?" I asked.

"Very nice, Bebe, thank you," he said, studying his fingernails. I rolled my eyes and swished offstage, high-fiving Kenny, who was next.

Dear God, a whole weekend to wait for the casting results. Thank God we had scheduled a sleepover at Wendy's to ease the pain of waiting.

"Let's get going, I'm so freaking bored," complained Rebecca, yawning.

"No, we have to see Stan and Kyle perform," Wendy said. She's so lame, we might kick her out and recruit Sparky, Stan's dog instead.

"Fine." We did stereo seat-flopping and became immersed in the next hour of tryouts.

(A/N: This chapter was terrible, but at least it moved the story along a little.)


	4. The Cast of Grease!

Monday morning. Birds buzzing, bees singing, sun shining, homeless people drinking. Hair poofing. Mascara bleeding. Bebe dying. I rolled out of my cozy, soft, delicious bed into the freezing air. My room is so frigging cold…the shower will be a lot warmer.

It was only 7:00. I had time to wash, dry and straighten my hair, and in the mean time, put on makeup and clothes. I trudged down the hall, almost tripping over my mother, on her way back to bed with coffee and newspapers.

"Hello, Mum," I mumbled.

"Good morning, Bebe dear, I made you a bit of coffee and toast, if you like, and heated up the flat iron for you."

Wow!!

I clipped my hair up and steamed myself in the shower, making sure to smell extra-nice in case of Craig bumpage, and dressed quickly in a grey-and-white Hollister sweater and jeans. Put yourself through the paces, Bebe, I thought, mascara, liner, foundation, deodorant, Be Sexy body spray, clean ears, straighten hair. _Straighten hair_. Great. Have egg-on-toast and orange juice. Prepare Hot-Pocket and coke for lunch. Goodbye, Mom and Dad. Put clothes on, Bebe, you'll freeze. Get jacket. Whoops! Brush teeth with Scope for maximum freshness. Get jacket, get bookbag, and get completed math homework. Get out of the house. Get to bus stop. Plug into iPod. Hello, Wendy.

"Hi, Bebe, are you totally flipping excited?" Wendy shouted in my ear.

"No," I said, cutting my eyes to her. She was wearing a purple Aeropostale hoodie and yellow skinny jeans, tucked into boots. "Why should I be?"

"BECAUSE TODAY WE FIND OUT OUR ROLES IN **GREASE!" **Oh my god, that's right!!

"OH MY GOD!" We did stereo squealing and leaping.

"Who do you wanna be cast as?" I asked breathlessly.

"Who do you think? Sandy Olsen, durr." Of course. Who wouldn't?

"Oh my god, me too," I agreed. "But I'm fine with a smaller role. Like one of the Pink Ladies, or—or Betty Rizzo! Now _that's _a role. Lots of drama. And she gets pregnant with Kenickie! God, what if Craig plays Kenickie—I'd get to make out with him! And then we'd do it! But not really," I added, blushing.

"Bebe, darling, do you really think there will be sex in a seventh grader's school musical?"

"N-no," I said in a small voice, "but maybe—maybe there'll be a kiss scene."

"I think Stan has a good chance of being Danny Zuko. I saw Mr. Garrison looking at him."

"That's because Mr. Garrison was checking out his ass." I love being blunt and honest.

We continued to chatter away for awhile. Wendy had gotten a thermal lip-gloss over the weekend.

"Thermal lipgloss," I repeated, impressed. "Because Stan's mouth isn't warm enough for you in these chilly Colorado mountains."

The bus arrived, and we climbed on, still chatty and giggly. The ride to school seemed to take forever, but it finally dragged into view, and the bus vomited out its riders.

A massive group of kids had already crowded around the corkboard at the office, including Butters, Kyle, Stan, Rebecca, and Lola Palmer.

"Bebe, guess what! I-I'm a "stand-in"! What's that?"

"It means you suck, Butters, you little queer," said Kenny, who looked high and elated. "Good job, Bebe, and Wendy, by the way." He smiled, flashing his gorgeous blue eyes. I love Kenny. "Come see the sheet."

Excited, we elbowed Pip out of the way and went to look at the casting sheet. It looked like this:

Sandy Olsen--------------- Bebe Stevens

Danny Zuko---------------- Kenny McCormick

Betty Rizzo------------------ Rebecca Tucker

Frenchy---------------------- Wendy Testaburger

And so on. I felt like every internal organ had fallen out of my belly button and onto the floor. Lola Palmer was Marty in the Pink Ladies and everyone who tried out had gotten a role—even Butters, who was an understudy and a dancer. But more importantly, I had been cast as Sandy Olsen.

"KENNY!" I shrieked, dropping my bag and throwing my arms around him. He felt so strong…and warm…and he smelled great. I hugged him tighter. Stop it, Bebe, you whore. I let go of Kenny and beamed at him.

"Wow, Bebe, I wish you'd hug me like that more often," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

I swept the list with my eyes and found the sexy name Craig Tucker, playing second-in-command T-Bird Kenickie. Speaking of, he was coming through the crowd, and high-fived me.

"Wow, Bebe, congrats," he said calmly. I blushed red and managed a wide smile in my lightheadedness. I offered him a stick of gum. Craig pulled it out of the packet and slowly folded it into his mouth, then closed his cool blue eyes like the bubblemint taste was orgasmic. My mind roiled as I thought of him kissing Kenny McCormick. How hot would that be?

Something about Craig Tucker made my brain do weird things.

I stumbled off as the bell rang signaling the start of classes. We had not seen Rebecca all morning, and had missed the chance to congratulate her on her role. As Wendy and me walked, we chattered away giddily. Suddenly, the backs of my knees were whacked into and I dropped my books…

"BEBE! WENDY!" screamed Rebecca, shattering my eardrums. "I'M BETTY FRICKING RIZZO! AND WENDY IS FRICKING FRENCHY! AND BEBE IS FLIPPIN' _SANDY OLSEN!"_

"We KNOW!" we chimed in unison. "Congrats, by the way, Rebs, for making your role," I added, hugging her.

"Thanks. But honestly… Sandy _Olsen…_ and opposite my Kenny…" she sighed.

"She won't entrance him, Rebecca, no worries," Wendy assured the redhead, glaring sideways at me. I crossed my arms and shrugged. Kenny was no match for the Sex Goddy charms of the delicious Craig Tucker…I was almost sure of it. Almost.

(a/n: whew. It's just past ten on Thursday night and I am asleep in this chair. anyway, chappie 4 is finally up! R&R please.)


End file.
